


The One Thing We'll Remember

by LydiaArgent



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaArgent/pseuds/LydiaArgent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>South/CT post-Freelancer AU, mostly fluff, partially angst. Domestic fluff with lots of knives.</p><p>Written for South Appreciation Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Thing We'll Remember

CT is standing on her front step at 4:30 in the morning for some goddamn reason. A huge backpack dwarfs her, but she's carrying it like it weighs nothing. She's also holding a six-pack of South's favorite shitty beer.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead?”

“Didn't you used to sleep naked?” She pushes the hood of her oversize sweatshirt back from her face, and looks innocently up at South.

South tries to smirk. “Who says I was sleeping?”

“It's a good look on you.” As per usual with CT, South isn't entirely sure if that's sarcasm or not. She's wearing a Grifball t-shirt two sizes too big for her and the last clean pair of underwear in her drawer, which are, of course, dark green lace. But CT's gaze stays on her bare legs for a few seconds longer than it should, and South can't get mad just yet.

“You say the sweetest shit.” She pushes the door wide. CT walks in and puts the beer down next to the open cartons of takeout spread over the coffee table. 

South shuts the door and leans against it, watching as CT sheds her pack and drops onto the couch. 

“I'm fucking serious. We all thought you were dead.”

CT turns and looks at South more warily than before. “That was the goal, more or less.” She opens a beer and holds it out, a peace offering South can get behind.

She opens her mouth to say something, but South grabs the beer and cuts her off. She does not want to deal with this shit this late at night, or this sober. 

“You know what? I don't wanna hear it. I'm gonna finish my food, drink all your beer, and go to fucking sleep. We can talk or whatever in the morning.”

“I'm taking that as a 'yes' for me crashing on your couch?” CT says around a mouthful of South's fries.

“Are any cops gonna show up to arrest you?”

“No?”

“You're still a total fucking lunatic.”

CT hands her a second beer.

*

When South wakes up around noon the next day, CT's just a lump under the pile of blankets South threw at her the night before. It's stupid, but South has to pull the covers back a little, look at CT's face, make sure she didn't dream the whole thing again.

She squints up in the sudden light, but doesn't yank the blankets back down like South expected. 

“I'm going to practice, sleeping beauty. Don't fucking bolt while I'm gone.” 

“I'll find us dinner, so don't worry about it,” she mumbles back. She shoves her bangs out of her face and starts to borrow back into the pillows.

“Hey, asshole, stay awake for a second. We need to talk later.”

One brown eye opens to look at her. “Yeah, I know. I'll find us some vodka too.”

“That's my girl.” She absolutely did not mean to fucking say that, but CT's mouth quirks at the side. 

“Let your girl get some sleep,” and she pulls the covers down over her head.

“You're the laziest little shit I ever met,” South says over her shoulder, and sees a middle finger held up over the back of the couch when she closes the door behind her. She has to stop for a second and lean against the door, almost reeling at the bizarre familiarity, before she can head out into the street.

*

She's greeted by the smell of pizza when she come home a few hours later. CT is laying on the floor, her eyes scarily intent on the expensive-looking tablet balanced against her knees. She glances up at the sound of the door, and spends a few seconds closing down whatever she's working on before sitting up.

“How was practice?”

“Fine, whatever.” She scared the living hell out of her teammates, but better that than hauling off and punching CT in the face. Or straight up jumping her where she sits on the floor, legs splayed out, pale arms resting on her knees. She can't really figure out which one she wants to do more, so she settles on cracking open the bottle of vodka sitting next to the pizza boxes.

Fucking someone she worked with was one of just a couple lines South wouldn't cross. She'd seen it happen before, seen how FUBAR things got on missions, seen idiots get shot because of their hormones. It had never been a problem for her until PFL, with its isolation and its resident caustic information retrieval specialist with a thing for big knives. She'd pushed it down, held it at bay, kept her damn hands to herself for years. With all the leaderboard and AI bullshit the Director kept throwing at them, it should have been easier. And then CT was gone, and it was too easy.

“So, how the hell did you find me?” It's probably the least pressing of her questions, given that she's made exactly no effort to stay off anyone's radar. She figured anyone thinking about looking for her would already know her reputation, and would stay the hell out of her way.

CT moves to get up and sit on the couch. “I was at one of your Grifball games a few months back.”

South laughs, startled. “No fuckin' way. We're in full armor, no way I'm showing my face on camera.”

CT rolls her eyes. “I knew it the second you picked up the grav hammer. Remember that time on the asteroid mining colony, with the natural gas leak--”

“I've been trying real hard to forget that, thanks, but I got your point.” 

“It wasn't hard to get your address from there.”

“Good to know it took you months to get in touch.

“I --” CT looks uncomfortable for the first time since she walked right back into South's life. “I really doubted you'd want to see me.” 

South perches on the edge of the coffee table across from CT and hands over the bottle. She looks like she needs it.

“You thought I'd be pissed because you left without a saying a goddamn thing, and planted a time bomb that would rip apart the whole fucking project?”

CT visibly flinches back, more than she would have if South had actually thrown a punch, and takes a big swig of vodka. South grasps the edge of the table, wants to be furious, wants that old, worthless rage back, wants to send the coffee table flying.

“Christ, CT, I was fucking furious. But it's been years, and I can't say I really blame you.” South shrugs, tries to be casual in the face of CT's ridiculously big eyes. “The whole thing was rotten to the goddamn core. It would have gone to shit no matter what.”

CT looks so grateful before she puts her forehead in her palms, managing to keep hold of the neck of the vodka bottle.. “Thanks. Seriously, thank you.” Then she looks up and meets South's eyes. “I would have come back a lot sooner if I'd known I wasn't going to get a bottle thrown at my head.”

“I haven't ruled it out yet,” South mutters without any heat behind it and grabs the vodka back.

“Fair enough.” She almost laughs, shaking her head, and slumps heavily back into the deep leather couch. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“Yeah, well,” South stands up and turns around to drop onto the couch next to CT, “You obviously weren't pining enough to keep your ass out of trouble.”

“Nope,” she says a little gleefully, leaning forward to raise an eyebrow at South and grab them both pieces of pizza. When she sits, back, her shoulder is pressed warmly against South's arm. 

“You sure no cops are gonna come tearing down the door in the middle of the night? It's fine, I'll just wear pants this time.”

“It's closer to private military police.”

South rolls that one over in her mind for a minute before concluding, “Fuck.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Who the fuck have you been pissing off?”

“A lot of assholes who are making way too much money off people killing each other.” She sounds kind of smug, kind of angry, and completely pleased with whatever shit drove her out of hiding. South shakes her head, and starts to laugh.

“You haven't changed a goddamn bit. Hey, hand over your crust if you're not gonna eat it, don't be stupid.”

CT passes it over and goes for more pizza. She draws her knees up on to the couch, twisting around so she's facing South. Her tight tank top and too-big jeans should make her look like a teenager, but the new undercut and deep lines around her eyes give her away.

“So. What have you been up to, besides taking pro-Grifball by storm?”

South narrows her eyes. “I thought you just came to one of my games.” 

“I recognized you at the first one. I've seen them all since then. But that is not the point,” she glares at South, who's starting to grin. “Completely besides the point.”

Still amused, South answers, “Taking on a few boring as fuck private security gigs. Got a bike, do some riding.” She shrugs. “Keeping busy, I guess.”

“So, would it be a problem if I stuck around for a while?”

“Only if you keep buying the good vodka and coming to my games.”

“I think can manage that.”

*

South hadn't realized just how complacent she'd been until she wakes up before dawn to the familiar sound of knives hitting wood at high speed.

“Damnit, did I wake you up?” There's an old board propped between two chairs, and CT is sitting clear across the room with a pile of blades by her side. South recognizes the tension in her shoulders, knows what that need to break some shit is like. The only difference is that CT didn't just start throwing knives straight into the wall.

“Hand some of those over.” She slides down the wall to sit next to CT, who holds out three matching knives handle-first.

More of CT's knives hit the center of the board, but South's stick deeper. The sun's just creeping over the horizon when one of CT's throws splits the plank straight down the middle. 

South turns to her, takes in the dark circles under her eyes. She's sure she's got a pair to match. “More sleep, or coffee-flavored sludge?”

“Sludge-coffee. And thanks, for,” she gestures broadly at the shattered wood and knives laying on the carpet. “All of this.”

South shrugs, and goes to put the coffee pot on.

“You get much of a chance to spar?”

CT shakes her head, stretching out her back with an audible pop. 

“Come by the gym after practice.” 

*

“Get rid of the goddamn knives, CT.”

“We agreed, no weapons.”

“Yeah, that's why I'm telling you to get rid of the goddamn knives.”

CT slides a small blade out from the right leg of her shorts. South crosses her arms.

“You think I'm an idiot? I've sparred with you before, you crazy shit, and I still got the scar on my leg to prove it.”

She grins like a shark, and pulls a five-inch serrated blade out from under her shirt and tosses both to the edge of the mat. There's a muttering crowd growing, watching them standing completely still.

South breaks first, because fuck it, there's no way she's going to out-wait a determined CT. Two punches and a kick hit nothing but air, and her ankles are being swept out from under her. She rolls to her feet, bringing her elbow around, but CT's already moved out of reach. The muttering has completely stopped, and everyone's eyes are on CT's barely-5'3” frame.

Her body remembers this, what it's like to come up against someone who's just as fast as she is. Substituting speed for force, constantly in motion, blinking wrong and getting a heel in the kidney.

Eventually, South lets CT inside her guard, throws her over her hip, and pins her down hard on her stomach. She's got one knee in the small of her back, and an elbow between her shoulder blades. They're both breathing hard, and South's hand is slick with sweat against CT's wrist. CT tries to twist away, but South's got too much weight on her. She wrenches CT's arm an inch higher behind her back.

“Shit, all right! I give, you win, you're the greatest.” 

South smirks and pushes herself to her feet. “It's always nice to hear it out loud.” She stretches out her hand, and CT grabs her wrist. She doesn't let go once she's pulled herself to her feet.

“What the _fuck_ was that!” one of South's teammates finds his voice, and that is not something South is ever planning on dealing with.

“Looked like training to me. This is a training room, right?” South's captain is leaning in the doorway, looking pointedly at everyone in red jerseys. The crows breaks up, giving CT and South a lot of space. 

“That was fun,” CT says with feeling, shaking out her other arm. Her face is flushed, and her hair is sticking to her neck.

That's definitely one word for it. South's heart hasn't slowed down at all since she stopped moving. She hits CT in the shoulder. “I'm gonna go get my stuff from the locker room.”

When she comes out, she jogs over to where CT's talking to her captain, Rissa. CT looks thoroughly entertained at whatever that interfering bitch is saying and tells South, “I was just asking how you ended up playing Grifball.”

South groans while Rissa answers. “I caught up with her after she got thrown out of a bar. Told her if she was half as good with a grav hammer as she was with a table leg, I had a job for her.”

CT bursts out laughing, and South pointedly shoves her out the door and turns to flip Rissa off. Rissa mouths “I like her,” and gives South a thumbs up.

South mouths back, “Still not my mom, asshole,” and turns around to see CT halfway across the parking lot, running an admiring hand over her motorcycle. It's bright green with pewter accents, and has a new engine so big it's pretty illegal on a bike that size, so it's definitely worth admiring. 

“Get into a lot of bar fights?” CT leans back against the bike, crossing her arms and looking highly amused.

“Not since I get to beat the crap out of my idiot teammates every damn day, but we're definitely not going to any of the bars in walking distance of the apartment. And I will fuck you up worse if you get a scratch on Peggy.”

“Noted.” She pushes gently off the bike, and pulls on the spare helmet South tosses to her. “Hey, do you think anyone would you mind if I came by to spar more?”

“You scared the living shit out of everyone but Rissa, and she likes you. So no, no one will.”

“Awesome.” CT's arms barely tighten around her waist when South peels out of the parking lot.

*

It's weird, someone being around every day when she gets home. CT's usually sprawled out on the floor, intent on her screen, often swearing under her breath. She keeps getting take-out from really nice restaurants that South knows about, but has never been to. She doesn't mention it until she comes home one day, a couple weeks after CT showed up, and there's a bottle of ridiculously expensive whiskey on the table.

“So I'm guessing robbing warlords pays pretty fucking well.”

“High risk, high reward.” CT grins when South opens the whiskey and takes a drink straight from the bottle. “Glad you like it.”

“If you're loaded, why are you hiding out here?” She tells herself that CT's leaving soon, she just needed to get her feet under her and now she's off to some tropical paradise planet, and that South doesn't give half a flying fuck. But she puts the bottle out of her own reach before she asks the question, so she's well aware that's bullshit.

But CT just shrugs. “I like it here. But I can absolutely get out of your hair if you want your couch back.”

South resists the urge to tell her that seriously, she's welcome in the bed any time. 

“Nah, I'm kind of digging having a sugar mama, to be honest.” 

CT cracks a grin. “More than happy to oblige. Actually, I'm thinking getting you a nice new desk.”

“The fuck would I do with a desk?” 

“Hmm,” is all the response she gets, before the whiskey is being plucked out of her hands. She lets CT take a drink before grabbing it back and going to open the containers of Indian food. 

When South gets home the next day, CT's not working on her computer. She's sitting on the floor, looking thoroughly pissed off. She's surrounded by pieces of cheap plastic, some metal rods, wrenches South is completely sure she doesn't need, and a bottle of gin that's a third empty.

“Don't think DIY furniture is one of the many things in life alcohol helps with.”

CT glares up at her. “It drove me to drink. It's an asshole.”

South picks her up under the arms and sets her on her feet. “Think you're capable of boiling water without burning down the building?”

“That, I can do.” She sways just a little while she walks into the kitchen. South sits down in the middle of the mess and turns the instructions right way up. There's a loud crashing noise, followed by a louder crashing noise, and then a kind of tinkle. CT's head appears around the corner.

“I found your pots.” She disappears, and there's a sound of water running.

South puts her face in one hand, and takes a drink from the bottle of gin with the other. 

By the end of the hour, they have a desk that hasn't collapsed yet and a truly terrifying amount of spaghetti.

“It all looked smaller when it was in the box.”

“Have you ever actually cooked before?”

“Nope, not really. I'm pretty good at microwaves though.”

South snorts, and digs out more tupperware.

“Maybe you should learn. What do you even do all day?”

“Make expensive private security systems look like garbage. Been running a little, did some shopping.” She gestures at the pile of clothes in the corner instead of at the desk from hell, and it does look bigger than it did a week ago. “I had to leave most of my shit behind when some assholes with a lot of guns found my last apartment.”

South remembers how that is, having to pick up and run at a strange sound outside your window. She'd thought she missed it, the thrill of putting her life on the line every damn day just by going outside. But CT looks so tired suddenly, like her backpack might be too much to carry again. 

“Well, don't get fucking caught this time, and you'll keep having shit to wear.”

CT rolls her eyes, and goes to wash the absurd number of dishes she got dirty.

South walks out of the kitchen, and stands in front of her dresser for a few long minutes. She only uses half of it anyway, it's just fucking sensible. She starts picking stacks of CT's clothes, her notebooks, random bags she brought and throwing them into drawers.

“I got sick of looking at all your crap,” she explains, when CT appears at the kitchen door with soapy hands and raised eyebrows.

*

The next day, there's a real computer on the desk, plugged into a lot of other shit South doesn't really recognize. CT's pulled up one of the never-used chairs that goes with the table in the kitchen, and is sitting in the with her knees pulled up to her chin. 

“And here I thought you were buying a desk for me.”

CT tips her head back over the chair. “I may have exaggerated. Did you actually want a desk?”

“Absolutely fuckin' not.” She heads into the kitchen to get a beer and leftover spaghetti out of the fridge. There's a long pause before CT says anything.

“Do you mind that I got it?”

It's disconcerting, how at home CT looks, how much the apartment looks like she belongs there. It's more worrying how much South really doesn't mind.

“What I mind that you can apparently set up a hacker bitch's wet dream worth of equipment, but you can't put together a goddamn desk from Ikea.”

“Actually, that's fair.”

*

It's weird. South goes to practice, goes to work, and CT hangs around the house doing whatever illegal shit she's neck deep in that day. They spar a couple times a week, and CT starts winning more. South ignores the betting pool her team has going, and just as forcefully ignores Rissa when she tells South that she's seemed more focused lately. Sometimes they'll take South's bike out of the city, go for long, rambling runs that make them both sleep that night. It almost feels like a routine, but it's nowhere near as boring.

They have insomnia-fueled horror movie marathons, and South teaches CT how to make popcorn that doesn't come out of a shitty microwavable bag. South starts sleeping better on the couch than in her own bed, with her legs thrown over CT's lap and the drone of cheesy scoring in the background. 

One day she wakes up, being carried to her own room draped over CT's shoulders.

“Fuck, I keep stealing your bed.” She mutters into the back of CT's shirt.

“Hey, don't worry about it. It's nice to see you sleeping.”

She's still mostly asleep right now, and grabs hold of CT's wrist after being put down on her mattress.

“Just sleep in the fucking bed.” There's only a second of pause before CT slides in next to her, and lets South bury into her side.

When she wakes up, she's curled up against CT's back, an arm draped over her waist. CT is breathing deeply, and South's not about to move and wake her up.

She can't fuck this up. She doesn't have any real idea what 'this' is yet, but the point stands. She's a goddamn idiot. She's gotten used to having her here, having someone to cook for and bicker about terrible movies with and to share really good booze straight from the bottle. And in the last 10 minutes, apparently, way too used to having her to wake up next to.

She moves her hand carefully, pulling CT's hair back from her face. There's some color on the patch of skin behind her ear, and South moves the hair away to get a better look.

To anyone else, it would just look like a stripe of rainbow running from just behind CT's earlobe up to her hairline. But the tattooed bands are gold and teal, white and pink and purple and steel grey, and South actually feels her breath catch. She runs her fingertips along the outside of her ear, traces the thin stripe of pink back up.

CT stirs, and rolls over before South can take her hand back.

“I never,” CT's voice is rough from sleep, and maybe something else, and she swallows hard before trying again. “It wasn't you all I was leaving. I know I did, and I had to, but that wasn't what I wanted.” South doesn't say anything, has no fucking clue where to start, and CT's face shuts down as she starts to roll out of the bed.

And then South knows exactly where to start. She catches CT around the waist, pulls her back down onto the bed, and kisses her hard. 

CT's entire body goes tense in her arms, and she slides her fingers into South's hair, licks at South's tongue in her mouth. She rolls them over, straddling South's hips, moving down to suck at her collarbones and pulling harder at her hair.

“You're such an asshole. I gave up years ago, then you pull this shit,” CT mutters against South's neck, against her ears.

South presses her hips up hard, and that makes CT stop talking fast.

*

South feels like there should be some more of change, other than the fact that they screw each other's brains out in the locker room shower after they spar now. 

That's not entirely true. Now, South wraps her arms around CT's tense shoulders, drawing her away from her computer. CT runs her fingers through South's hair, and tells her once “I like the purple tips.” 

There are fewer nights when neither of them can sleep. South teaches CT how to measure out the goddamn pasta.


End file.
